


Rewrite the Stars, or, The Queenmaker

by Princesse Palatine (Petronille)



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Alternate Universe - Tudor Era, Anne Boleyn/Loki, Gen, Historical AU, Second-chance romance, Thor AU, Tudor Era, WIP, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petronille/pseuds/Princesse%20Palatine
Summary: As Anne Boleyn faces the executioner's sword, Loki Odinson acts on a brilliant plan to save the woman he loves and her child from unimaginable fates. The deep, abiding love of a prince of Asgard and a former queen of England, and how it changed history forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Loki, Thor, or any other Marvel properties mentioned. This work is entirely fiction, so there will be many departures from established history. 
> 
> Note: Many actresses have portrayed Anne Boleyn, but in my opinion, Genevieve Bujold in the 1969 film Anne of the Thousand Days captured her the best. And she looks perfect with Tom Hiddleston's Loki. Sources used will be listed at the end of each chapter.

_May, 1536._

_Asgard._

For the second night in a row, Loki Odinson was jolted from his sleep by a dream that felt too real. A dream of arrest, of despair, of fear, of concern for loved ones, and finally, peace and acceptance, just as he was led out to his execution by swordsman on a lush green lawn.

 

Tonight, he didn’t try to sleep; instead, he called for some wine to be brought to him, and with a wave of his hand, lit the brazier in the fireplace so that it would warm the chill not only in the room, but his bones.

 

Once the wine was brought, and once he was alone again, he wrapped his robe about himself, settling more deeply into his chair. The wine had been heated and spiced to his liking, and as he sipped it, he couldn’t help but be reminded of where and when he had first tasted the combination. If he closed his eyes long enough, he could hear the music and laughter of the French court, and see a pair of dark eyes that glittered with both merriment and adoration of him. Not only had it been the eyes, but a pair of lips that had gone with them, lips that had tasted of cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg when he had dared to claim them. There had been passionate embraces, hurried and frantic, whispered declarations of love, and promises made.

 

_Wait for me, Nan. I only ask that you wait for me, and I will make you my wife._

He buried his head into his hand, trying to will away the heaviness that overcame his heart whenever he thought of it. He had tried to be honorable, to get his father’s blessing before he asked for her hand. It had never been done before, an Asgardian prince and a Midgardian maiden, even if she was of some minor rank in her own country. He had been absolutely terrified of asking his father for this one boon, for the one thing that would mean so much to him and bring him so much happiness. Odin had sighed, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a few moments, as though the weight of the world had been on his shoulders.

 

“You know that I cannot grant that, my son. Ask me for anything else, and I will gladly grant you that favor. But a marriage with a Midgardian mortal… it is simply out of the question.”

 

 _Out of the question._ Loki gritted his teeth, shifting in his seat again. He had gone to her again, but it was too late. He had been gone too long, and she had been summoned back to England by her own father, to take her place in the queen’s household. And she had attracted the wandering eye of the king. After that, her fate was sealed.

 

When he had begged her to hear him out that last time, she had told him as much. _Do not come to me again._

He hadn’t gone to her again, but it hadn’t meant that he still didn’t seek news of her, or look in on her every now and again. He had spies in the English court, and he had even set foot in it under the guise of a mortal, all just to see that her husband was treating her well and that she was happy.

 

The husband, the king, was a well-built man, as far as mortals went, he supposed, handsome, with blue eyes and a fine ginger beard. He reminded Loki of his brother, Thor, somewhat; a sort of sturdy, hail-fellow-well-met kind of man, rather confident in his skills in not only the fight, but more courtly skills such as music and dancing. But unlike Thor, who carried an air of benevolence about him, there was a ruthlessness to this king, a love of power and how much of it he could wield. He was the king, God’s anointed one on earth, and he could do as he pleased.

 

The last time Loki had peered into his mind, the king had seemed distracted, not by the thoughts of his wife, but by thoughts of another woman. A meek, soft-spoken little country mouse, a woman who would obey him as he thought a wife should.

 

It was like looking into the mind of a child who had wanted a toy so badly, but who grown disenchanted with it as soon as he had received it, until he finally had grown bored of it and wished to discard it for the next shiny, new thing that caught his eye. And the toy that he had once loved so much, the toy that had lost its shine, remained where it had been discarded, waiting for its master to come play with it again.

 

Loki scowled as he took another sip of wine, then reached into the folds of his robe to pull out the gold pendant that rested against his heart. The dwarves had fashioned it, as they had fashioned its mate, which hung from the neck of the woman Loki had once hoped to marry. His own pendant, cool in his hand, was a plain gold affair on the surface, but once he touched the catch, it sprung open to reveal a treasure inside: a miniature of a pretty young woman with skin that reminded Loki of snowdrops and dark hair and dark eyes that contrasted against it brilliantly. She bore a slight smile on her face, and around her delicate neck, that lovely neck he had kissed many a time in the heat of love, was a necklace of gold and pearl, with a large gold _B_ as the pendant. The necklace he had given her after she had lost its likeness in the garden of the French court.

 

_As long as you wear this, I will always be near to you, Nan, no matter how far away I might really be._

“Nan,” he murmured, his voice a slight croak. The pendant shimmered a bit with a golden light, and he cleared his throat. “Show me Anne Boleyn,” he said more forcefully.

 

Now the pendant itself glowed both silver and gold, and opposite the miniature, Loki could see the vision of a city, and in the middle of that city a fortress. Within the fortress there was a room, where she, Anne, was crumpled on the floor, sobbing at some turns, laughing at others. Sometimes she would pace the length of the room, wringing her hands and chewing on her lips, mumbling under her breath. He caught a few names: _George, Smeaton, Norris, Brereton… Elizabeth, whatever will become of you?_

His heart stopped.

 

_Anne._

 

He reached out to touch her, only to feel metal warmed by magic against his fingers. “Anne,” he murmured.

 

Anne. Was Anne to die?

 

He sprang up from his chair, raking a hand through his dark hair.

 

“Out of the question,” he muttered. “Marrying a mortal is out of the question… and it has sent her to her death!” He picked up the empty glass and threw it across the room, where it landed in a dark corner with a clatter.

 

He stalked toward the door of his chamber, wrenching it open, then into the corridor toward his mother’s chambers. Frigga, queen of the Asgardians, was wont to keep odd hours when she couldn’t sleep, passing the time at her loom. He hoped against hope that she was up, so that he might seek her counsel. He knocked on her door, and she bid him to enter.

 

When he wandered into the room, he saw that she was seated at her loom, humming to herself as she worked the shuttle between the threads. When she saw him, she stopped, setting aside the shuttle and rising.

 

“Loki,” she said, her face lined with concern, “what troubles you?”

 

He held up the pendant to show his mother the vision of Anne awaiting her doom. “You can see what troubles me,” he said evenly. “The woman I have loved for so long, whom I wished to marry once…” His voice trembled, and he stopped short.

 

Frigga took the pendant into her hands, staring down at the vision of the terrified woman. “Anne Boleyn?”

 

“Anne Tudor now, queen consort of England,” he spat out, his green eyes narrowing. “If you remember, I came to Father asking him to grant me this one request: to allow me to take Anne Boleyn to wife. He denied it. Even though he knew that it would be a love match, he denied it…”

 

“Because she was mortal, Loki,” his mother said softly, brushing her fingers through his hair, as she did when he was a child. “It isn’t seemly for a son of Asgard to marry a Midgardian…”

 

“Even though the Olympians have coupled with mortals from Midgard many a time,” Loki reminded her.

 

“And your father would say that we aren’t Olympians,” his mother replied.

 

“And you? What do _you_ say?” Loki said.

 

Frigga sighed, averting her eyes from his as she returned to her loom. She picked up a corner of the finished project, her brow creasing in thought.

 

“She has a child, do you know that?” Loki said. “She has a little girl she called Elizabeth. Can you imagine what would happen to that child were she to die? If we brought her and her child to Asgard, can you imagine how happy they would be? I wouldn’t rest until Anne’s every whim was satisfied…”

 

His mother stared down at her project again, then looked up at him. “Loki,” she said. “Come here and see…”

 

He went to his mother’s side, and looked at the point of the finished tapestry she had indicated. His breath caught at the sight.

 

“Is this set in stone?” he asked her. “Can this be changed?”

 

She lifted her eyes to meet his, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “The destinies of mortals are never set in stone, Loki. But we mustn’t intercede…”

 

“And if I _want_ to intercede?” he demanded. “What then, Mother? Am I to stand idly by as the woman I love is put to death for crimes she didn’t commit, as her child is abandoned to live like a little gutter rat? You know that I can’t allow that…”

 

She eyed him warily. “And what will you do, then, to prevent all of this?” she asked him.

 

He lifted his face so that he might address her. “I will do whatever it takes to rescue both Anne and her child, and bring them to Asgard, where they will be safe and happy. I will make sure that they are kept safe and happy.” He inclined his head. “You will help me, won’t you, Mother?”

 

She sighed. “Oh, my dear boy,” she whispered, “I know how much you loved her then, and how much you love her still. I will do all I can to help you in this endeavor.”

 

He smiled. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, lifting her hand and kissing it. “I bid you good night.”

 

His mother smiled wanly. “Good night, Loki,” she replied.

 

Once he had returned to his room, he produced the pendant, again summoning up the vision of Anne. Now she was sleeping, fitfully, and he could see the tracks of dried tears on her face.

 

 _Were you here with me, my darling,_ he thought to himself, _you would not feel sorrow. You would be loved more deeply than you could ever imagine…_

He reached out to stroke her hair, but only felt the odd shock of magic. “Sleep, dear heart,” he murmured, as though she could hear him. “Be brave when you awaken tomorrow, for there is hope. For both you and your daughter.”

 

He closed the pendant, pressing his lips to it, as though he was kissing her good night. As he fell asleep, he closed his fingers around it.

 

 _Soon, my love,_ he thought as sleep came over him. _Soon, you will be here with me, and we will never be parted again…_

 

 __  
  


 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Thor or any properties of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Even though there are historical characters featured, this is a work of fiction, so there will be many departures from established history. Sources used listed in notes below.

_May, 1536._

_London._

She was no longer queen of England, and no longer wife to Henry Tudor.

 

Her marriage had been annulled.

 

She let out a sob of relief when she heard the news, but then the despair hit her again: her daughter Elizabeth would be a bastard, and God only knew what would happen to the child after her death.

 

She was a free woman, if only for a few days.

 

Anne Boleyn couldn’t bear to see her brother and the others along with him, Henry Norris, William Brereton, Mark Smeaton, and Francis Weston, executed. Executions for high treason were painful, messy affairs, all to make the accused suffer. And no one adored suffering of those who had supposedly betrayed him like King Henry VIII did.

 

 _But I never betrayed you,_ she thought to herself, tears filling her eyes once again. _I just couldn’t give you what you wanted…_

At least Catherine of Aragon had been able to give Henry what he had wanted, if only for a little while. Anne, despite her promise that she would bear Henry a son, hadn’t even been able to deliver on that.

 

 _And this is why,_ she told herself as she fiddled with the pendant about her neck, the gold _B_ that she still treasured so, even though the man who had given it to her was but a distant memory. A distant memory that perhaps she should have waited for, instead of going back to England so quickly after her father had called her back from France. Because her father had had plans for her, plans for her to take her sister’s place in the king’s bed after his ardor for Mary had cooled.

 

 _And look what it got me,_ she thought, letting out a giggle so shrill that one of the women appointed to watch over her, Lady Shelton, looked up at her, frowning. A few weeks ago, she would have been angry with herself that the mask she had so carefully constructed had slipped, but there was no reason to deride herself about it now. Now when she was to die.

 

_Therewithall sweetly did me kiss, and softly said, “Dear heart, how like you this?”_

_You should be careful, Master Loki, else Master Wyatt will steal your poems and making a living passing them off as his own. And what will you do then?_

_I’m a man of means, Lady Anne. Even if Master Wyatt stole all of my poems from me, there would still be more where that one came from. Especially with you here to inspire me._

She had been shocked to discover what he really was, not a man, not an angel, nor God or the Devil themselves, but something in between.

 

_And you have my heart, Nan. You will always have it, no matter what might happen between us. I beg of you, I beseech you, do not marry him, even if he is the king, even if you are carrying his child. Come away with me, and we shall make a life, you and I, far away from here. We might raise your child together along with our own, and you need never worry about him or his court again. You will be so loved… my people will love you…_

_You know I can’t do this. I’ve already made my promise to Henry, and it’s his child I carry, not yours, no matter how much you would like it to be. Now go away, and do not think to come to me again._

She closed her eyes in tears as she remembered his face blanching and his jaw going slack in disbelief, as though she had stabbed him in the gut and twisted the knife for good measure, to bring him more pain. After all, it was he who had left her to tarry in France, only for him to never return. And when he had come to her, it was too late.

 

_Too late. Too late. Too late._

_But I loved you, Loki, I did. Even after you told me the truth about what you were. And if I had known then what I know now…_

 

She would have gladly run away with him. Forgotten her promise, her family, her duty, thrown all caution to the wind and run away with him.

 

She could have sworn she had heard his voice in the early hours of the morning, lulling her to sleep.

 

Dreams. Visions of a life that might have been.

 

She had no doubt that he would have been kind to her, and a good, dutiful father to Elizabeth. They might walk in the gardens, Elizabeth bounding ahead of them, picking blooms for a posy, and then presenting them to her mother. And Loki laughing, taking them from the little girl, and handing them to Anne with a flourish, as though he was giving her the world.

 

_I would give you everything you ever wished for, Nan. I would move heaven and earth and not stop until you had whatever it was your heart desired._

She laughed bitterly. Stupid, foolish girl she had been. _Duty._ It had always been about duty, to her family, to her husband, to her kingdom, to her position as queen consort. And she could not fulfil any of those duties: to bear an heir for her husband, a son, to guarantee that a Tudor might sit on the throne should her husband breathe his last.

 

She turned away from the window, watching dejectedly as her old nurse, Mrs. Orchard, brought a tray in for her, with steaming stew and a bit of crusty bread, along with a flagon of wine. “Go away,” she told the maid petulantly. “I’m not hungry.”

 

The maid looked up, her green eyes meeting Anne’s. Anne clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp as the maid’s face changed, contorted into a much more masculine one, a much more familiar one.

 

“You weep so, my lady,” Mrs. Orchard said, though through the feminine tones Anne could hear _his_ voice. Loki’s. “Perhaps you would feel more at ease after you ate?”

 

Anne took a step toward the table, keeping her eyes on the tray of food on the table. “I do not understand,” she said, sitting down at the table. “Usually I take my meals with Master Kingston.”

 

“Master Kingston is indisposed as of right now.” The old woman’s voice faded, and a shimmering of green and gold light enveloped her form. In just an eyeblink, it wasn’t Anne’s old nurse who stood before her, but Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, the man who had so generously given her his heart so long ago before leaving her.  He pulled out a chair and sat down, then waved his hand, conjuring another goblet out of thin air. He set it down on the table and took up the flagon of wine. “Let us eat together, Nan, so that we might talk and make some sense of your predicament.”

 

“My predicament?” she demanded, her ire suddenly rising. “What do _you_ know of my predicament?”

 

He poured some wine into her goblet, then handed it to her, before pouring some wine for himself. He gestured to Lady Shelton, who was now fast asleep, her needlework having dropped from her lap onto the floor. “Before I answer your question, I’d like to tell you that you may speak freely. Lady Shelton cannot see me, or hear us. When I leave, she will only say that she nodded off while you ate the dinner Mrs. Orchard brought up for you.” He pushed the bowl toward her. “Please eat, Nan. You’ve not taken much nourishment since you’ve been brought to the Tower, and you need your strength.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, but drew the bowl toward her, her fingers accidentally brushing against his. He did not make any remark about it, nor did he react. Instead, he raised his eyes up to hers, and she could have sworn she saw a flash of sadness in his expression. He sipped his wine, heaving a melancholy sigh. When she began to partake of the stew and the bread, he began to speak.

 

“It was my mother who showed me what she had seen of your fate and your daughter’s fate, after I was wakened in the middle of the night by a strange dream.” He paused, his head inclining just a little bit, the continued. “I was being led to my death. Beheading by the sword…”

 

She dropped her spoon in the stew, almost choking on the contents. She took the goblet of wine when he offered it to her, then drained it. Once her coughing fit had passed, she sat down again, overcome with weariness. “I am to die,” she said, the words sounding foreign on her tongue. “He… Henry… has sentenced me to die by the sword. For high treason, for incest and adultery…”

 

A glare marred Loki’s perfect face, and he bared his teeth. “Incest and adultery!” he spat out. “All false accusations, I know that much…” He sprang up, coming to her side, taking her hands into his and kissing her wrists with the same fervor of so long ago.

 

“And how would you know?” she asked him.

 

He looked up at her, then reached out to touch the pendant he had given her so long ago. “When I gave this to you,” he told her, “I said that I would always be near to you, even if I was far away.” He cupped her cheek in his, staring into her eyes.

 

She caught his hand in hers. “The pendant,” she murmured. “With the pendant, were you able to see…”

 

He nodded. “I never meant to pry, Nan. You must believe me. You see, I have its mate.” He reached into the collar of his shirt and produced a simple gold pendant on a chain, embellished with pearls. “I meant to show you how to use yours, after I returned…”

 

She reached out to touch his hair, dark and silken just as she had remembered. “But you’re here now.”

 

“Yes, dear heart, I’m here now.” He pressed his lips to hers chastely, as though a deeper kiss would be too much to ask for right now.

 

“I am a free woman,” she said once he had pulled away. “You might have kissed me with more passion.”

 

He laughed, his cheeks coloring slightly. “if I did, I would want much more than a kiss, and I would stay far too long. No, Nan, there is much to do as of yet. I only ask you to be patient, and to trust me. By tomorrow evening, you will be gone from this place, and you will be safe. And I promise you that I will move heaven and earth to see you happy.”

 

“And Elizabeth?” she asked him, her heart leaping to her throat. “What of my daughter?”

 

“I would never leave her behind to suffer at the hands of that tyrant,” Loki replied, his lip curling. “I will spirit you both away to someplace safe and take you to wife as I promised you. And she will be as a daughter to me, just as I vowed to you before you bade me to leave you in peace.”

 

She felt tears prick her eyes, and she leaned her forehead against his, taking in the sweet scent of cloves that he had always worn. “And yet now I don’t want you to leave,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I wish you would stay with me and never be parted from me again…”

 

“Soon, Nan. Soon,” he murmured, and this time he seized her, drawing her to him. He kissed her deeply this time, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, just as she had done while caught in his embrace in France, when he had first told her that he loved her.

 

“I will come to you as soon as I can,” he told her, kissing her on the tip of her nose. “Trust me, Nan. Trust in our love.”

 

She twined her arms around his neck, leaning toward him for one last kiss. “I do trust you, Loki. And I do love you, with all my heart.”

 

He smiled wanly. “Then let me be a hero to you, Nan. And you will enter Asgard by my side as my wife.”

 

He kissed her again, and she held him as tightly as she could before he let her go. With a snap of his fingers, he awakened Lady Shelton, who started out of her sleep. He laughed as she blinked a few times as though disoriented. Anne stifled a giggle herself as her eyes met his. He pressed his fingertips to his lips as though to say farewell before stepping into the column of light behind him.

 

“God’s blood,” Lady Shelton said. “How long have I been asleep?”

 

Anne glanced at her. “Oh,” she said lightly, “not too long. I didn’t want to wake you.”

 

Lady Shelton shot her a disapproving look, then sniffed as she picked up her sewing again. “Well,” she opined, “it’s just as well. It isn’t as though you’re leaving these chambers anytime soon, is it?”

 

Anne bit her lip for a moment before answering. Oh, the things Lady Shelton didn’t know! “No,” she said, “I suppose not.”

 

Lady Shelton tutted, then picked up her needlework again, leaving Anne to finish her dinner. Anne ate with more zeal than she had in the past few days.

 

For the first time, in a very long time, there was hope. And a chance at happiness that she had once thought lost had returned to her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 __  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources used: The Lady in the Tower by Alison Weir and Elizabeth I by David Starkey. The documentary Elizabeth I and Her Enemies also contains a lot of good information. I would also recommend the documentaries The Six Wives if Henry VIII and Monarchy, both presented by David Starkey. These both give a lot of perspective on the Wars of the Roses, the start of the house of Tudor, and why Henry VIII was so set on having a son and heir. I would also recommend Britain's Bloody Crown, a documentary series about the Wars of the Roses.
> 
> I can also promise some good scenes with Loki and Henry!

**Author's Note:**

> Sources used: The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn, by Eric Ives, and The Six Wives of Henry VIII, by Alison Weir.


End file.
